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Beefy Wilson and Jem Duffy between them found Jigger's body and brought it as far as the dressing station. Behind the trenches Beefy's company and Jem's section took different roads, and the two old friends parted with a casual 'S' long' and 'See you again sometime. Duffy had two hours' sleep in a sopping wet roofless house, about three miles behind the firing line.
He even made an attempt to speed up to Beefy's rate of shovelling, although he knew by old experience alongside Beefy that he could never keep up with him, the unchallenged champion of the old gang.
"Steady on, Bunny!" And I saw that Beefy's ears were blue; but Raffles was feeling in his pockets as he spoke. "Now let him breathe," said he, clapping his handkerchief over the poor youth's mouth. An empty vial was in his other hand, and the first few stertorous breaths that the poor boy took were the end of him for the time being.
"My hand's held!" gasped Raffles, and the white of his eyes showed all round the iris, a rarer thing than you may think. At the same moment I heard the shuffling feet and the low, excited young voices on the other side of the door, and a faint light shone round Raffles's wrist. "Well done, Beefy!" "Hang on to him!" "Good old Beefy!" "Beefy's got him!" "So have I so have I!"
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